Buenos Aires

Today has been all about the travel, with much of the day spent flying back to Buenos Aries.  Several large tour groups on the flight, including one English and one American.  Volume control not included, and what is this trend of groups wearing identical lanyards?  It's like the matching backpacks frequently seen terrorising Edinburgh city centre. 

There are many advantages to travelling solo with checked luggage.  One of them is that I have absolutely no urge to hover at the gate, desperately hoping to board first and secure locker space for my outsize cabin bags.  Today, in the tiny El Calafate airport, I saw a new approach to this.  A couple placed their large shiny cases at the start of the queue point, and retired to the cafe to wait for boarding to be called.  A very small part of me admired their chutzpah; the larger part wished I spoke better Spanish to point out the unattended baggage to airport security.  

Name three things that Buenos Aires and Argentina is famous for. Almost every answer would be Evita, football and tango. So that's what we did today.

Most tourists still arrive, knowing little beyond the musical and film, expecting Madonna rather than Eva Peron. Eva was an illegitimate child, born in rural poverty, who came to the city with acting ambitions. Whilst her film roles were unsuccessful, her radio skills were not, to the extent that she partly owned the station when she met Juan Peron, an army officer with political ambitions. The rest is history before her hideous early death from cancer. Adored by the "people" for her work in welfare and alleviation of poverty, despised by the elites for her unacceptable background, she is widely credited with "owning" the law that gave women the vote in Argentina. Today, after many years of exile from military dictatorships, she lies 5 metres below ground in a family mausoleum in the Recoleta cemetery, surrounded by the tombs of the rich families who hated her and all she stood for.

Across town to the district of Boca, once the original port of the city, populated by Italian immigrants who painted their corrugated metal one-room homes in the colour of whichever ship was being maintained in the harbour. According to legend, Boca Juniors chose their club colours from "the next ship" to arrive. Fortunately it was Swedish and the legendary blue and yellow colours remain. Home to one of the most successful clubs in the world, it sits surrounded by poverty and the long abandoned port, stalls of tourist art competing with dancers in dramatically split dresses offering to pose for expensive photos beneath the brilliant colours. Our guide is firm; we can return under our own steam but under no circumstances are we to be here after 5pm. It is unsafe.

To complete the trio, this evening a number of the group go to a tango show and dinner. It is both complete tourist trap performance and utterly compelling. Musicians, dancers and singer are all highly talented but the stars of the show are a slightly older couple dancing with drums and bolas, the coloured cords spinning into a blur as the bolas strike rhythms onto the floor.

While wandering in the square in front of the "pink house" (the local seat of government) there is a large joyful crowd in front of the cathedral. As I post this, the death of Pope Benedict has just been announced, but this was his church when he was Bishop of Buenos Aires. Today there is an air of jubilation that sparks curiosity. I ask a group of teenage guides near me if they can explain, but their English is not good enough, much to their embarrassment. So I offer a phone set to Google Translate - you have to trust guides - and learn that these are "new priests" being ordained. All ages of men being congratulated by friends, family and strangers as they leave into the first sunlight of their new lives, escorted by a jubilant crowd of drums and singing.